


Self-Sacrificing Heroes and Lousy Villains

by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Banter, Episode Tag, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e09 Running to Stand Still, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24339811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/pseuds/Sandrine%20Shaw
Summary: "Right. The Flash has to take care of his city." Sarcastic condescension drips from Snart's words, making it crystal clear what he thinks of Barry's sense of duty. He raises an eyebrow. "Who's gonna take care of the Flash, then?"
Relationships: Barry Allen/Leonard Snart
Comments: 47
Kudos: 501
Collections: Hurt Comfort Exchange 2020





	Self-Sacrificing Heroes and Lousy Villains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tommygirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tommygirl/gifts).



> tommygirl - Your prompts of Barry hiding his injuries and Snart getting all protective instantly made me think of a post-"Running to Stand Still" confrontation between the two of them. I hope you enjoy this, and that you had a fun H/C Exchange! :D

Barry's entire body feels like one massive, all-encompassing bruise. 

Mardon really did a number on him, and despite what Barry told Joe about his regenerative healing abilities fixing his injuries in no time, he knows he's going to feel the souvenirs he carried from the fight for a while yet. His ribs have already started knitting themselves together, but the pain lingers, flaring up with every little move that he makes. When he leaves S.T.A.R. Labs and steps outside, he can feel the cold winter air sinking into his bones, a deep, dull ache he can't shake.

He gingerly touches his side where one of Weather Wizard's blasts hit him full-force. The light touch alone is enough to make him wince. Maybe he should ask Joe or Caitlin for a ride instead of flashing himself home. If he can barely stand straight, perhaps running at lightning speed is a bad idea.

"Looking a little worse for wear there, Barry."

Barry stiffens when he hears the all-too familiar voice. There's mockery in the tone, instantly setting Barry on edge. _Dammit._ He's dead on his feet and in pain, and not ready to go toe to toe with Captain Cold again.

All he wants is for this night to be _over_ already, but it looks like he's not going to be that lucky. When is he ever? 

He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, giving himself a moment to collect his wits and try to push the weariness and the strain from his features before he turns around to face Snart. 

The man's leaning against his bike with a pointed air of casualness, his hand loosely curled around the handle of the Cold Gun that's sitting snugly in its holster. The way he's watching Barry with sharp eyes that slide over his body, taxing and heavy like a physical touch, makes Barry's skin prickle. 

"What is it now, Snart? Are you back for another half-assed warning? Or do you want to finish what your prison buddies started?" 

The accusation is at least ninety percent irritation and only ten percent genuine worry that Snart will attack him. Since they made their deal in the woods all those months ago, Snart must have had half a dozen opportunities to do some real damage, and he didn't take any of them. Quite the contrary. There was no need for him to warn Barry about Mardon's and Jesse's plan, nor did he have to hesitate when Lewis told him to pull the trigger. But he has a knack for showing up at the worst time, when Barry is at his lowest, and two run-ins in as many days are stretching Barry's tolerance for Snart's unique brand of bullshit.

Snart is pretending to mull over Barry's question, his lips twisting into a sneer. "Depends. Would you fight back this time? Or just let me put you _on ice_ and hold still like a good little hero with a martyr complex, like you did when Mardon turned that wand on you?"

Barry frowns. That's a weirdly specific scenario. Which means— "You saw the fight. You were there."

He wonders how close Snart was. Barry didn't notice him – but then, he'd been pretty distracted trying not to die.

Snart offers a one-sided shrug. "Maybe I was reconsidering their offer."

He looks down to inspect his fingers, feigning distraction. It's obviously an act, and a massive tell on top of it. His sudden refusal to meet Barry's eyes is suspect, and Barry doesn't for a second believe that claim he just made. If Snart had really wanted to join forces with Trickster and Weather Wizard, he would have. Especially with the balances so obviously tipped in their favor. And Snart would have no reason to be cagey about his motives if it was just another instance of _I'm a criminal and a liar, and I hurt people_. Which means that his real reason for keeping an eye on the brutal showdown between the Flash and his enemies isn't something he likes to admit to.

"Maybe you were thinking about helping me after all."

Barry throws it out there like a gauntlet, a challenge daring Snart to respond with his usual protests that he has no interest in heroics.

For once, those claims don't come. Instead, Snart's eyes are back on him, narrowed with something that almost looks like ice-cold anger. "Didn't look like you wanted help."

The reproachful tone gives Barry pause, making him wonder what the confrontation must have looked like from the outside. Pretty one-sided, he imagines. It's not so much that Barry hadn't _wanted_ Snart's help. It just wouldn't have made a difference, considering the situation. And if Snart had stepped in halfway through the fight, Cold Gun blazing, it would only have made Trickster more likely to push the detonator and make all those bombs go off.

"I couldn't fight back."

"Couldn't, or _wouldn't_?" 

Barry doesn't understand why Snart sounds so pissed. He feels like he's missing something, something important, but he's too woozy to unravel that thought. Reading Snart is tough even on a good day when Barry's senses are focused and his wits are sharp, but he has no hopes of figuring Snart out when he's struggling not to collapse on a heap on the asphalt.

"Both. I—It was complicated. They were threatening to blow up _kids_. I couldn't let that happen." He frowns. "Look, Snart, I—" 

A wave of dizziness hits Barry before he can tell Snart that it's no big deal, that he's fine. Or will be, soon enough. 

He sways, his vision greying out on the edges for a moment. Everything feels so slow, seconds dragging on, stretching endlessly. Barry's stomach bottoms out and his head feels drowsy. It's a struggle to stay conscious, and he isn't entirely sure if he doesn't lose it for a few fragile moments. 

When he blinks his eyes open, Snart is right in front of him, his hand a steadying weight against Barry's neck. He's close, so close. Closer even then he was when Barry had him pinned against the fireplace the other day. The air fogs between them where the air they breathe out mingles. Barry can smell the spicy tang of Snart's aftershave, and the residue chill from the Cold Gun makes him shiver. 

He doesn't have the strength to pull away. If he's honest with himself, he doesn't want to, either. Snart's touch is warm and more gentle than Barry ever would have thought Captain Cold was capable of, and his body is solid against Barry's. 

He allows himself to sink further into the other man's hold. Snart sharply pulls in air, but he doesn't push away.

"Careful, Barry." 

Barry isn't sure what exactly he's being warned about. With some effort, he forces himself to look up and meet Snart's eyes. It's a mistake. Barry always knew he could get lost in that stormy blue, and he doesn't have the energy to pull up his defenses tonight. His pulse is beating erratically, so loud in his ear that he wonders if Snart can feel it racing underneath his fingers.

"You aren't invincible," Snart says, his voice for once devoid of the usual affected drawl.

The harshness of the tone draws Barry out of his stupor. Snart's right, of course, but it's not like Barry doesn't _know_ it, that he isn't aware of his mortality, meta powers be damned. Fuck, he feels it in every bruise, in every narrow hard-won victory, every narrow escape. What's new is the realisation that Snart cares – or, really, not even that. He remembers the way Snart looked at him when he thought Lewis had shot him, remembers that quiet, painfully sincere _'Sorry, Barry.'_. 

But Snart _admitting_ that he cares... that's what puts them far into unchartered territory. 

Barry doesn't quite know what to do with it. He tries to play it – pun not intended – cool. Smiles and shrugs, and offers a glib, "Occupational hazard."

The look Snart shoots him is scathing, and Barry can feel the grip on his neck tensing. 

"Right. The Flash has to take care of his city." Sarcastic condescension drips from the words, making it crystal clear what Snart thinks of Barry's sense of duty. He raises an eyebrow. "Who's gonna take care of the Flash, then?"

Barry swallows the instinctive insistence that he can take care of himself. It's probably not a point he should be making when he all but collapsed in front of one of his enemies. At least, that's how Snart would see it, and he won't like Barry's reminder that he doesn't really think of them as enemies, not anymore. With Snart, it's always best not to let himself be backed into a corner and put on the defensive. Better to charge ahead and meet him challenge for challenge. 

"Are you applying for the job?" Barry fires back. 

It's a joke. Mostly. Except, maybe it's not. 

There's a part of him that likes Snart's grudging protectiveness a little too much, and it has nothing to do with wanting Snart to be more heroic or joining the good guys. Perhaps it's just his tiredness speaking, but the idea of Snart _taking care_ of him, possibly in more ways than one, is altogether too appealing. 

He feels a blush rising to his cheeks and looks away.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches the way Snart's mouth curls into a wry half-smirk. "Come on, Scarlet, I'll give you a lift home."

It's not an answer to Barry's question. Or perhaps it is.

When Snart starts to pull away, Barry grabs his wrist. He feels Snart go still and rigid for a moment, muscles tightening under Barry's hold, fingers curling into a fist. It only lasts a few seconds, though, maybe less; then he relaxes again.

Their eyes meet, and Barry carefully telegraphs his movements as he closes the distance between them. His heartbeat is still frantic and he feels dizzy again, but it's a different kind of light-headedness this time. Snart doesn't pull away when Barry leans in.

The kiss is unhurried, soft, more gentle than anything between two people who should by all accounts be enemies has any business to be.

Once they break apart, Snart watches him with intent, curious, like he's trying to figure Barry out. 

"What was that for?" His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Barry's gaze flits down to Snart's mouth. 

There are too many answers to that question: For caring. For almost coming to Barry's rescue. For respecting Barry enough _not_ to come to his rescue when it was clear that things were not that simple. For constantly keeping the Flash on his toes. For being the most aggravating, frustrating, infuriatingly smart and agonizingly hot guy Barry had run into – literally or figuratively – since he woke up from his coma and his whole world went topsy-turvy.

But Snart wouldn't want to hear any of that, and Barry doesn't think he's quite ready to tell him either.

He shrugs. "For doing a lousy job of being a villain, I guess."

His words have the desired effect of stirring a huffed-out laugh from Snart, which he immediately tries to stifle and hide behind a glare. But it's too late. Barry has already seen it. 

"Don't count on it," Snart warns, the familiar Captain Cold drawl curling around the words in a way that Barry is certain is meant to be chilling. Paradoxically, he finds it oddly comforting.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he lies.

The pointed look Snart gives him implies that he knows only too well that Barry will, in fact, continue to count on it and has no intention of letting go of the idea that there's good in him.

Instead of adding another rebuke, he reaches for the spare helmet on his bike and holds it out for Barry. Their hands brush when he takes it, a tiny spark of electricity passing between them.

"Let's get you home, Barry."

End.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are love (like hot cocoa with mini-marshmallows, but with zero calories) and much appreciated! ♥
> 
> You can [find me on Tumblr](http://sproutwings.tumblr.com/), still drowning in Coldflash feels like it's 2017.


End file.
